


Simple

by Scarcettwo



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Family, Therapy, fake grundy and all the nastiness that entails, well kinda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-09-27 14:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10025654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarcettwo/pseuds/Scarcettwo
Summary: Fred Andrews fights. He brings in the cavalry, he takes in another son, and he makes sure Archie gets into therapy. But nothing can change what happened, and he doesn't know if his best will be good enough."Fred Andrews might have been simple, he might have been old school, but he knew that wasn’t right. He knew if he’d had a daughter, he’d have been foaming at the mouth in an instant, and he hated himself for it.He didn’t protect his son."





	1. Chapter One

Fred Andrews was a simple man. His diet had too much cholesterol and his weight yoyoed up and down because he always forgot he couldn’t eat like a teenager anymore. He was separated, like a lot of American couples, and he had a wonderful son that he didn’t always understand, but always had and always will love.

Fred Andrews had never been so ashamed in his entire life. Not when his father told him he’d never amount to anything, not when Hermione had told him he simply wasn’t enough, not when Mary left him because he didn’t know how to do anything but work.

He just stood there. He fought with Alice, latching onto the dumbest thing he could, protecting his son. From what? Alice’s careless words? While that woman, that _woman_ sat right there, completely unattacked.

He tried to convince himself that he thinks it wasn’t that bad. Every teenage boy had a teacher they wanted to kiss.

Fred Andrews might have been simple, he might have been old school, but he knew that wasn’t right. He knew if he’d had a daughter, he’d have been foaming at the mouth in an instant, and he hated himself for it.

 

He didn’t protect his son.

 

That woman had isolated Archie, had gotten between him and his son, had made Archie think he was selfish and arrogant and unworthy of Betty Cooper’s friendship.

Betty Cooper, who’d blackmail her mother into not protecting Archie, while trying to protect him.

Why did every good intention in the world mean that his son was defenseless?

Why had he just stood there like an idiot?

He found Archie in the car, and all he could say was “This wasn’t your fault.”

But Archie would never believe him, and that _woman_ , that _grown_ _woman_ , was probably already on her way out of town.

Fred Andrews made a cup of coffee and sat in the living room, nursing it. The room was too bright, too clean for the jumble of emotions tangled up in his organs. Archie was upstairs, and if he tried to sneak out, Fred would stop him.

He was nauseated. How many of Archie’s nights outside the house were spent with her?

He couldn’t trust the Coopers. Alice was too narcissistic, too caught up in her reputation to risk Betty saying a thing.

He couldn’t go to the Kellers, not if they want to keep this quiet. And while then, hours too late, Fred wanted nothing more than to wring that woman’s neck, to see her in an orange jumpsuit on the way to the gallows, it might not be right. Because there was one thing he wanted more, and that was for Archie to be safe and happy.

He couldn’t go to Hermione, she wasn’t trustworthy.

It was possible that Jughead might know something, he was a strange kid like that, but he was still a kid.

He called Mary, which he knew he was going to have to do anyway, but dammit, he didn’t want to break the news to her.

She picked up after a few rings, voice cracking with exhaustion. They were in the same time zone, but he hadn’t realized how late it was.

“Fred?”

“Mary, it’s about Archie.”

The covers rustled on the other end and he knew she was bolting upright. There was a murmur of Deanna’s voice on the other end.

“What happened?”

As he told her, his heart sunk further and further. That woman had preyed on his son, his fifteen year old son.

“I’ll be on the next flight out,” Mary said. “I’ll get a taxi from the airport and i’ll see you by morning.”

“She’s leaving in the morning,” Fred said.

Mary was silent for a long moment.

“Why did you let her leave?” Mary asked.

Fred had been thinking about that all night, but he still took a moment to figure out the words. “I thought it would hurt him less. You didn’t see him Mary. She has him convinced that she loved him.”

“There aren’t words for people like her,” Mary said, voice breaking. “I think we should just let her leave for now. It won’t do Archie any good to have to see her.”

“I say we let her go,” Fred agreed. “It’s more important to take care of him than rush into anything.”

“If she leaves, we lose our chance.”

“If we get the law involved now Archie loses any hope of calm. We can’t thrust him into this. We can track her down in the future. Right now Archie is the priority.”

Mary took a deep breath. “Alright. You’re right. Archie first. We can disembowel that woman later.”

* * *

That woman left, and it was seven am by the time a yellow taxi pulled up in front of the house. Fred had spent the night in his chair, listening to see if Archie would try and leave and nursing multiple cups of coffee. He’d called his men at work and told them he wouldn’t be in, so the Drive-In gained another day free of destruction.

Fred knew Alice Cooper was probably watching through the curtains, but he didn’t particularly care. Mary looked exhausted, bags under her eyes and her thick black hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looked almost the exact same as always beyond that, brightly-colored blouse and intelligent eyes, with the same worried crease in her forehead.

Fred was about to hurry to help her with her suitcase when Deanna got out of the taxi behind her.

He should’ve known. Deanna doted on Archie every time he visited them, and he knew Archie saw her as a third parent of a kind. Her box braids swung as she twirled the suitcase up the sidewalk, and Mary smiled slightly.

Sometimes he really missed her smiling at him like that.

“Fred,” Mary said, and hugged him tightly. Deanna hugged both of them at once.

“It’s wonderful to see you again Fred,” Deanna said, gifting him with one of her megawatt smiles.

“Where’s Archie?” Mary asked as Fred lead them inside.

“He’s still asleep. I’ll make breakfast and coffee and we’ll all talk about this.”

There was a knot in the pit of his stomach, growing heavier under the weight of Mary’s currently-silent judgement.

“Therapy should be the first thing,” Deanna said. “I know he’s not my son, but-”

“He is your son,” Mary said.

Fred nodded. “He needs all the support he can get.”

“We need the whole story,” Mary said. “Not furtive whispers on the phone.”

Fred sighed and turned the kettle on, and got a package of bacon out of the fridge.

“It’s going to take a while. Tea or coffee?

* * *

“This is some Mary Kay Letourneau shit,” Deanna said viciously when Fred was done detailing all he knew.

“Who?” Mary asked, flipping a piece of bacon. Fred got out some bagels and sliced them. Deanna’s fists were clenched tightly on the table; she was nearly vibrating with rage.

“Thirty-four year old teacher that raped a twelve year old student in 1997,” Deanna said. “She served seven and a half years, but they’re married now, despite the fact that her ‘husband’ suffers from alcoholism and depression as a result of what she did. Their kids are older than he was when they were conceived.”

Fred gripped the counter, white-knuckled. He was going to throw up.

“Gibson is thirty-five,” Fred said dully. He wished he were chopping onions just for the excuse to cry.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Mary swore.

“Also, the victim, Vili Fualaau, happens to be Samoan-American,” Deanna said.

They sat in silence.

“History is not going to repeat itself,” Mary said. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“If Gibson is pregnant…” Fred trailed off. It was too much to even contemplate.

“We need to hire a PI that will keep an eye on her,” Mary said, standing up and beginning to pace. Fred was strongly reminded of her in their first apartment, pacing back and forth and debating between paint colors for Archie’s bedroom. Only now the stakes were so much higher.

“So when we _do_ go after her we know where she is,” Deanna nodded.

“If,” Fred said.

“Excuse me?” Mary asked.

“It will be Archie’s decision, once he’s in a better mental state. We’ve got years before the statute of limitations expires, and Archie deserves some measure of control.”

“Right,” Mary said. “Well, we can discuss that in greater detail later. For now, we find a therapist that he’ll get along with and-”

“Mom?” Archie was standing at the door of the kitchen, blinking in surprise. “Deanna?”

“Archie,” Mary got up and hugged him tightly.

“Hey kiddo,” Deanna ruffled his hair and offered him a smile. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Archie said slowly, taking a bagel from the center of the table and heading to the toaster, deliberately not looking at any of them. “How are you?”

“Let’s cut the crap, huh sweetie?” Mary said, not unkindly. “You know why we’re here.”

“It’s not necessary,” Archie insisted, slamming the bagel halves down in the toaster harder than usual. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Sure she didn’t,” Deanna said sarcastically. “That’s why everyone’s upset and worried about you, because Jennifer Gibson did nothing wrong.”

“I wanted it,” Archie said. “I came onto her I-”

“How did this start?” Fred interrupted, to stop Mary from blowing a fuse. “I know it was over the summer, before July Fourth, but I don’t know anything specific.”

“I was walking home from work and she drove past. She offered me a ride-”

“She offered you a ride?” Mary asked dangerously.

“Because it was hot out,” Archie protested.

“So you got in her car,” Fred prompted.

“And she drove me home,” Archie said.

They all jumped as the bagel popped. Deanna handed Archie the cream cheese and he began to slather it on single-mindedly, as if determined to ignore reality.

“So how did it escalate?” Mary asked.

“She gave me rides home every day and it just kind of happened.”

“She just came back, all by herself?” Deanna asked.

“Well she asked if I wouldn’t like a ride every day and I _didn’t_ mind, so I said yes.”

Fred closed his eyes for a few seconds.

“And then she came back, and she was nice and you became friends,” Fred said, voice and heart hollow.

“She _is_ nice,” Archie said.

“I”m sure she was plenty nice,” Deanna said darkly. “Bet she bought you an ice cream cone and-” Mary shot her a warning look.

“She did buy me ice cream,” Archie admitted.

“She bought you ice cream and then kissed you,” Mary said.

Archie took a bite of his bagel to avoid answering.

“So that’s why she gave you music lessons,” Fred said. He instantly regretted it.

“She gave me music lessons because I’m talented,” Archie spat, eyes blazing with anger.

“I meant that’s why she noticed you had talent in the first place,” Fred said.

Archie shook his head. “She’s had other students, she would’ve-”

“Other students?” Mary asked. “Who?”

“Tomoko Yoshido,” Archie answered, then hesitated.

“Who else Archie?” Deanna asked, voice soft and coaxing.

“Jason Blossom.”

“You’re telling me that the boy found dead this summer from a bullet to the head was privately tutored by a child molester that kept a gun in her car,” Deanna said.

“She’s not a child molester!” Archie exclaimed.

“Well you’re a child and she molested you!” Mary shouted. Archie flinched. “Honey, I-”

“No, I’m leaving,” Archie said. “I’m-”

“You’re sitting back down,” Fred said flatly. “We aren’t done talking about this, and you aren’t either.”

Archie’s nostrils flared, but he sat.

“Thank you,” Fred said.

“I’m going to make you a cup of tea, and we’re going to talk,” Mary said, putting the kettle on again. “Mother to son.”

Fred nodded. “Sounds good. Archie, maybe you’d like to show your mother the garage?”

The first smile he’d seen on his son’s face in days appeared and Mary looked over at Fred, confused, but Fred just shook his head.

“I’ll get my guitar,” Archie said, and dashed up the stairs.

“He’s not going to leave, is he?” Deanna asked.

“We’d hear him,” Fred said confidently.

Archie reappeared with his acoustic guitar just as the kettle boiled.

Mary smiled at him and Fred and Deanna watched as they walked out to the soundproofed garage with mugs of tea.

“We should make some calls about therapy,” Deanna said, rubbing her forehead.

“I’ll call my insurance office, see what they cover,” Fred said. “Will you look up some that are close but not too close?”

“You got it.”

They worked next to each other, Fred on a frustrating phone call with an infuriating insurance agent and Deanna on the computer, frowning and taking notes.

“The therapist has to accept this type,” Fred said finally, as infuriating insurance agent actually did his damn job. He scribbled down the type of insurance, and Deanna compared it to her list and crossed out a few names.

“We can talk it over with Archie, have him meet some of them…” she trailed off as Mary came into the room. Her lip wobbled, and she burst into tears.

“He’s so talented,” she said, sobbing.

Deanna and Fred both tried to hug her at once, but she just grabbed them both and cried.

“His song lyrics,” Mary said, breathless. “They’re about her. I know they are. He has such a beautiful voice, but it’s corrupted by that fuc-”

“Shh, he might hear you,” Fred said. “Don’t hurt him more right now.”

“He’s still in the garage, putting his guitar away.”

“He might have just dashed off,” Fred said, heading outside.

Archie came out of the garage just as Fred reached for the handle.

“You thought I was going to run,” Archie said. Whatever Mary had said seemed to have worked, because Archie was a lot more settled in himself.

“Can you blame me?” Fred said, then pokes Archie in the stomach. “Like I could catch you anyway.”

Archie hugged him suddenly, very tightly. Fred let out an “oof” as he rocked backward with the force of it.

“I know you’re trying to help,” Archie said, muffled against Fred’s shirt.

Fred took his arm and lead him back into the garage.

“I didn’t do enough last night,” he said. “I should have been immediately defending you, and instead I let Alice walk all over you and Gibson got away.” Fred held up a hand when Archie opened his mouth. “I know you don’t think she did anything bad, but what if say, Coach Clayton and Betty started ‘dating.’”

“That’s different,” Archie said.

“Why?” Fred raised an eyebrow.

“He’s older than Miss Grundy.”

“Miss Grundy is thirty five,” Fred said. “What if Coach Clayton were thirty-five?”

“Betty wouldn’t have gone after him anyway. He’d have gone after her,” Archie said.

Fred cast his mind around. It wasn’t the best example, and had bad implications, but it might do the job. “Your friends Kevin and Veronica though, they’re flirtatious. Archie paused. Fred had him. Archie wasn’t always the most loyal but he wouldn’t throw his friends under the bus like this, even hypothetically.

Archie bolted without warning.

“Archie!” Fred called, reaching out a hand and managing to just brush the sleeve of Archie’s hoodie. Archie just kept running. Fred could practically smell the panic on him.

Fred headed back inside. “He’ll be back. Let’s schedule some appointments.”

“You let him run?” Mary asked.

“That’s what he does when he’s upset,” Fred said. “He’ll come back, ready to talk.”

“What if he runs straight to her?” Mary asked. Her nostrils flared just like Archie’s always did.

“She left town this morning, before you got here,” Fred said.

“We need to ask Archie what he wants to do,” Deanna said, heading off an argument before it could really start. If we track her down now, we have to prosecute her now. If we wait a year or so, we might not find her again.”

“What if we call her back as implicated in the murder, not with Archie,” Mary said slowly.

“What do you mean?” Fred asked.

“You said Betty Cooper broke into her car and found a gun and an ID with a different name. If someone happened to turn that gun into the police along with a note about her private lessons with Jason Blossom, she starts looking pretty guilty,” Mary said.

“We have no proof she killed that kid,” Deanna said.

“Who cares?” Fred asked. “I sure don’t.”

"She killed someone's kid," Mary whispered. "Mine."


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jughead gets a home, Archie picks a therapist, and Fake Grundy is under suspicion in Jason Blossom's murder, if the cops can just manage to track her down.   
> Well, at least there's dance breaks.

_ “We have no proof she killed that kid,” Deanna said. _

_ “Who cares?” Fred asked. “I sure don’t.” _

_ "She killed someone's kid," Mary whispered. "Mine." _

* * *

The doorbell rang.

Fred answered it. Jughead Jones was standing on his doorstep, eyes rimmed in red from crying, but determinedly looking him in the eyes. There was a huge backpack on his back, his shoes were muddy, and there was dirt smudged on his cheek.

“Hey Jug,” Fred said amicably, if warily.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Jughead said, a slight quaver in his voice. “I’m sorry about what I said about the drive-in.”

“It’s forgotten,” Fred said. “You can stay as long as you need. I’ll set up the air mattress in Archie’s room later. Come here.”

Jughead let him hug him, and even hugged back, which wasn’t rare, but wasn’t exactly common either. A shudder went through the kid while they hugged, like he hadn’t been hugged in a long time.

Fred’s heart was never going to stop aching.

“What can I do best for you right now?” Fred asked, instead of tucking him under his arm like a football and carrying him into the house to stay forever, like he wanted to do.

“I need to tell you something,” Jughead said, and his eyes flicked back and forth furtively. “Is Archie home?”

“No, he’s out for a run,” Fred said. Mary and Deanna were still in the living room, and he knew they were listening, but Jughead was likely to flee if there was an audience.

“I should have told you the second I knew, but I thought I was protecting Archie,” Jughead closed his eyes for a long second. “Archie and Miss Grundy are together. They were at the river on the Fourth of July. She’s manipulating him and-”

“I found out last night,” Fred said. “It’s fine Jughead, you’re young, you didn’t realize.”

“I should have,” Jughead insisted. “I saw them-”

“You saw them?” Mary asked, stepping into the room.

Jughead jumped in surprise, backing up a few steps. Fred took his hat so he wouldn’t try and bolt. “Mrs. Andrews!”

“Mary,” Mary corrected. “You saw them?”

“At school,” Jughead said. “I was walking past the music room and they were kissing.”

“You didn’t get a picture, did you?” Mary asked.

Jughead shook his head. “No. Is he okay right now?”

“He will be,” Fred said, patting Jughead’s shoulder and giving him back his hat.  “We’ll figure it out. Now you look dead on your feet, go take a nap.”

“Sure,” Jughead agreed, twisting his hat in his hands. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Fred said. Jughead trudged up the stairs.

“We can’t have private conversations if his friend is here,” Mary hissed.

“Am I supposed to turn him out into the street?” Fred asked.

“It’s fine, we’ll work around this,” Deanna said. “Let’s make some calls, get those appointments set up.”

“If a therapist finds out we just let her leave, we could potentially face legal action,” Mary said.

“One thing at a time,” Fred said. “Please.”

“Let’s focus on how we can get her back,” Deanna said. “Then we can see what Archie thinks, then we can get him to an appointment, and decide what to do from there. The three of us together can do this.”

Mary and Fred met eyes and nodded. 

“I’ll make the calls for therapy,” Mary said. “You two discuss the course of action. Deanna, you’re smarter than me, and Fred, you know Riverdale better. We’ll figure this out.”

“We will,” Deanna said confidently. 

* * *

The plan was simpler than anticipated, but it involved Betty Cooper facing disciplinary charges for breaking into a car.

“We can’t do this without implicating her,” Deanna said, tapping her pen against the table in thought. “Otherwise we have no explanation for the gun. We can’t wipe the fingerprints without losing the case for it being Gibson’s.”

“Unless we claim it was anonymously dropped off to the school newspaper," Fred said dubiously.

“What dumbass would drop a loaded gun to a school paper?” Deanna shook her head. “Plus she didn’t wear gloves, so the police would find fingerprints in the car.”

“So we’re going to have to let her leave, because Archie won’t do anything that will get Betty in trouble.” Fred said.

“Sounds like it.”

“We could talk to the sheriff first, make sure Betty doesn’t get in trouble, I’m sure he would let it slide in light of this, or give her community service instead of putting it on her record,” Fred thought out loud. “We can do this.”

“Do what dad?” Archie asked from behind him. He was sweaty and red-eyed, but present and whole and mostly alright.

“We’re coming up with strategies on what to do about her,” Fred answered. “It will be up to you, but you need options.”

“What kind of options?” Archie asked, alarmed.

“Well we can file a report for what she did to you, let her go and you make your choice about whether to press charges later, though that runs the risk of not finding her again, or we can give evidence to the police that implicates her in Jason Blossom’s murder,” Deanna explained.

“Falsify evidence?” Archie said. “You can’t do that.”

“We wouldn’t be falsifying anything,” Deanna said. “There was a gun in her car, she was at the river that day, and she had a connection with the victim.”

“She also just ran out of town while she was a suspect in a murder investigation,” Fred said, sitting up straight. “We might not have to do anything.”

Archie’s phone buzzed and he checked it. His eyes widened.

“What?” Deanna asked.

“Sheriff Keller’s murder board got ripped apart last night,” Archie said. “During the movie.”

“It could have been her,” Fred said. 

“They’ll bring her back to town for us,” Deanna said. “We don’t have to do a thing other than tell him she left.”

“Alice Cooper will go public,” Fred said.

“Fuck,” Deanna said.

“Okay, I’m going to clean up,” Archie said. “Then we can talk, I guess.”

“We just have to convince her that it would be too traumatizing for him to force him into the public,” Deanna said lowly when Archie started up the stairs.

“Alice Cooper has no soul, how are we going to pull that off?” Fred asked.

“Leave me to it,” Mary said. “Also, I made a few appointments, so Archie can pick which one he likes best, and we’ll figure out a schedule from there.”

Archie came back in the room. “Why is Jughead in my bed?”

“He said he didn’t have anywhere else to go,” Fred said.

“He’s going to hear everything,” Archie said, then shook his head. “Whatever, where’s the air mattress?”

“Storage room in the basement,” Fred told him.

Archie went to get it.

“Those appointments,” Deanna said, capitalizing on his absence, “how many of them are there?”

“I found three good ones,” Mary said. “All tomorrow.”

“You don’t think that’s a little overloading?” Fred asked.

“It’s a half hour meeting each time,” Mary said. “He just has to meet with them, and then at the end of the day, pick one to continue with.”

“I’ll stay here, chill with Jughead,” Deanna said. 

“Chill with Jughead?” Archie asked in amusement, appearing in the doorway with the air mattress box in his arms.

“What, is that not the words the kids use nowadays?” Deanna teased.

Archie just shook his head.

“I’ll set that up later,” Fred said. “Now we need to talk.”

Archie gulped and sat down, leaving the air mattress on the floor. 

“We know you aren’t ready to talk to us-any of us-but you need to be communicating with someone,” Mary said. “I’ve set up three therapy appointments for tomorrow, and you can pick the person you like best, and then we can worry about a schedule.”

“I don’t have time for therapy,” Archie said. “I’m busy enough as it is with football and work and everything.”

“We’ll make time,” Fred promised. “We’ll figure this out together.”

“I’m fine though, you know that, right?” he asked Fred.

“You have low self-esteem, so even if you were fine with what happened, which you aren’t, you’d still be going,” Fred answered.

That mollified him, for now.

* * *

Dinner was awkward. Fred had made spaghetti, and the slurping sounds around the table didn’t help cover up the lack of conversation.

“How was the movie last night?” Fred asked.

Jughead looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. “It was a good finish for the drive in. Betty’s idea.”

“Rebel without a cause, right?” Archie asked. “You do know she was just making fun of you?”

Jughead rolled his eyes. “That’s Betty’s MO in matters concerning me.”

They lapsed back into silence. Deanna started talking about an idiot client she’d had that didn’t understand how to attach files to emails or the purpose of capslock. It was just humorous enough to distract them all.

After dinner Mary and Deanna started on the dishes and Archie and Jughead started on the air mattress. Fred gave them a couple minutes before following them up with blankets. He couldn’t help but listen at the door.

“I’m not going to ask, don’t worry.” That was Jughead.

“No, that’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Are you worried about me asking what you’re worried about?”

“What? No.” At least Archie was laughing.

“Then what are you worried about?”

Archie stopped laughing, and it took him a while to formulate a response

“It’s just, Mom and Deanna came down from Chicago and Dad’s home from work. I’m interrupting their lives, because I couldn’t keep it in my pants.”

“Archie that is  _ not _ what happened.”

“It’s not serious enough to justify this, but now I’m worried it is. I don’t want it to be serious.”

Fred tiptoed back down a few stairs and made noise outside so they knew he was outside.

“I brought blankets,” Fred waved the pile slightly. Jughead accepted them and offered a tight smile.

“Thanks Fred.”

“Thanks Dad.”

“I’ll leave you two to it then,” Fred said. “Archie, be up and downstairs by eight thirty tomorrow, alright?”

“Alright,” Archie gave a nod, and Fred waffled for a moment before closing the door and going back downstairs. 

They were in for a wild ride these next few months. 

* * *

 

Fred woke slowly, his alarm loud enough to nearly shake his bed. It was his four thirty work alarm. He’d forgotten to switch it.

Fred sighed and swung his legs out of bed, carefully avoiding the creaky spots in the floor to check on Archie.

Archie and Jughead were sound asleep in their beds. Fred took a moment to look at Archie. He was  _ so _ young. Faint freckles stood out in the bare sliver of light from the hallway behind Fred, and his face was slackened in sleep, unburdened. 

Then he gently closed the door, went back to bed, hit snooze, and drifted back off to sleep.

He woke up at seven, feeling as though he’d forgotten something, but maybe it was just a result of his dream. He didn’t remember all of it, but he remember being very afraid.

Mary shuffled out of her room as Fred left his. She was just like Archie in the morning, with messy hair and a slightly dopey expression.

“Morning,” he whispered.

“Mmphuf,” she responded. 

“Still not a morning person I see,” Fred teased. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

* * *

 

Archie was down at eight thirty as promised.

“Jughead’s awake, I just told him to wait upstairs.”

“Right,” Mary clapped her hands together. “We’ll be doing a bit of driving, so bring something to occupy you.”

“Can I bring a guitar?” Archie asked.

“Of course,” Fred said.

“Always glad to hear your music sweetie,” Mary kissed him on the top of his head, which was only possible because Archie was sitting.

“So we’re visiting three different places, and you pick which place you like best at the end of the day,” Mary explained. 

“That’s a lot, why don’t we just pick the closest?” Archie asked.

Fred resisted the urge to snort. “We want to make sure you like the therapist.”

“Fair enough.”

“We won’t even talk to anyone until you say you like them,” Mary promised. “And they’re required by law to not tell us anything unless you’re planning on hurting yourself or others.”

“I’m not,” Archie said.

“Just covering all the ground here sweetie,” Mary said. “You need to know what’s going on.”

Archie nodded. “We should probably go.”

It was a lot of driving, and it was fresh rage to know that his son, that wasn’t even old enough to legally drive to therapy, needed it for the reason he did.

Archie noodled away on the guitar the whole time, mouthing words to himself and humming slightly. Mary watched him while pretending she was on facebook, a softly heartbroken look on her face.

“Betty told Sheriff Keller that Miss Grundy left town,” Archie said. “They’re going to track her down and bring her back.”

A weight he hadn’t even realized he’d had lifted slightly. “We’ll have to talk to Alice tonight then, but it’ll all work out Archie, don’t worry.”

The first place, the Kenneth center, looked like an office building. There were stacks of dog-eared Care Bears books on a few short gray tables and a fish tank with three ugly fish. The only other people in the room were a balding, middle-aged man anxiously fiddling with his phone case and a bluish-haired older woman behind a counter.

Mary handled it all, speaking to the woman and making sure the therapist would be out soon, while Fred and Archie fold themselves into slightly-too-small chairs and wait.

The therapist was a cheerful blonde woman and Fred could already tell it wasn’t going to go well.

He was right. They were supposed to talk for a half hour, but Archie came back closer to twenty minutes. Fred caught the tail end of the conversation. 

“It’s nothing personal,” Archie said.

“It’s no problem at all. You need to get the best care for you, and that’s not me. Find someone you think can help you best.”

Now if Archie would just listen to that, maybe they’d get somewhere.

The next place, called Ostrow, Young, and Gambon, was much nicer, but also looked much more like an office, with nothing personal on the walls and a few copies of magazines that looked like they’d been stolen from a dentist’s waiting room. Most were from 2014. 

This therapist was an older man with gray hair and a pair of rectangular glasses perched on the edge of his nose. 

Archie reluctantly went in. This time he was gone the whole half hour, and he didn’t immediately reject the man, so Fred counted it as a win and they went to lucky number three.

Two Brothers was shabby-the state of healthcare in this country, honestly-but clean, and there were a few children’s toys in a corner. The chair were reasonably sized. They were a little early, so Archie picked up a toy with wooden beads on rigid, roller coaster-like metal wires.

“Why are these things in every doctor’s office?” Archie asked, shoving a string of yellow beads from one end to another.

“They improve motor control in young children,” Mary answered. 

Archie fiddled with a blue bead. “Oh.”

The therapist was a man in about his late twenties/early thirties, and a shirt with a superhero Fred couldn’t place, but knew he’d seen on at least one of Jughead’s shirts in elementary school. 

The sight of it seemed to relax Archie a bit. Fred was not looking forward to when his son finally broke down. It wasn’t going to be pretty. 

Archie was late coming out of the session, and exited smiling a little. 

“I’m guessing that’s the guy,” Fred said. 

“I think so,” Archie nodded. 

The therapist called them all in, and they sat on a scratchy-fabric-ed couch. Fred felt a little like he’d been called to the principal’s office. 

“Archie, I have to talk to your parents privately first,” the therapist said. “Mind waiting in the hallway?”

Archie shook his head and went down the hallway a bit to a chair in a small alcove. Fred made sure he was swiping away on his phone before shutting the door. 

“Well first, my name is Brendan, and let me just say that you have a wonderful son.”

“Thank you Brendan,” Mary said. “I’m Mary, this is Fred.”

“As I understand it, you're separated,” Brendan said.

Fred nodded. “We are.”

“Are you planning on staying for now, or going home?” Brendan asked Mary. “Just so we can come up with a plan.”

“Well, whatever would be best for Archie,” Mary said. “I was thinking maybe an inpatient or outpatient day program? I want to make sure he gets as much care as he can as soon as he can.”

“Archie is the type of kid that needs to be active, but also needs structure,” Brendan said. “Which I’m sure you know. He has extracurriculars and says he enjoys school for the most part. I think pulling him out of his routine wouldn’t be good for him right now. It could just cause him more stress.

“So you want to meet with him after his other obligations?” Fred asked, just to clarify. It made sense to him. 

“How often?” Mary asked. 

“I’d like to meet with him a couple days a week, when his schedule allows. We can talk about times when he comes in, as well as travel. You’ve taken care of insurance, I believe?”

Mary nodded. She was picking at a hangnail.

“I will tell you that this will likely get worse before it gets better,” Brendan said. “But in the long run it will be far better than no treatment at all.”

“It’s very fresh,” Fred said. 

“He hasn’t fully processed exactly what happened to him,” Brendan said. "But kids, especially boys, that are abused like this can end up with severe drug problems and anxiety or depression. Or both."

“Isn’t this a breach of confidentiality?” Mary asked. 

Brendan shook his head. “I’m informing you as his parents, not telling you what he’s said. Anyone with half a brain and the knowledge of what happened could see he hasn’t processed it.”

“He told you?” Fred asked. 

“That was my next point,” Brendan admitted. “From what I was told on the phone, Archie was not entirely truthful with me today, or he simply has his own version of the truth."

Fred and Mary exchanged looks. 

“Archie was approached over the summer by one of his teachers, and she started a relationship between them. I know it was physical, and he’s convinced he came onto her and and instigated everything, and that they were in love,” Fred said. The words stuck in his throat like peanut butter to the roof of his mouth, but much less pleasant. Mary finished the whole story for him. They all looked a little ill when it was done.

Brendan nodded. “Once he processes this, it will be very bad. He’ll need a support system.”

“Well he has us, and my girlfriend Deanna,” Mary said. “And his best friend is currently staying at our house.”

“Make sure his friend can be sensitive about this,” Brendan said. “Sometimes teens can be cruel and it wouldn’t be helpful to have someone like that in close proximity.”

“Jughead is sensitive, and they’re practically brothers. Archie has a few friends at school as well, so he has plenty of people to talk to that aren’t us.” Mary said. Fred made a mental note that Jughead was never allowed to hear that Mary had called him sensitive.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Brendan said, then frowned down at his notes. "I'm sorry, did you say Jughead?”

Fred was laughing too hard to explain, so Mary explained while he got Archie.

An unsettled silence fell in the little office once they were all seated together. 

“We need to pick a time,” Brendan said. “I know you have school, and football practice, so I can fit you in at seven pm, two days a week. I know it can be a bit of a drive, so I can stay a bit late when you come so you get the full hour. Which days are best for you?”

Archie bit his lip. “Monday and Thursday? My science teacher always gives a lot of homework on Wednesday nights, so I want to have time to do that.”

“Monday and Thursday work for me,” Brendan smiled. “And I guess I’ll see you on Monday then.”

“Thanks,” Archie told him. 

Brendan winked. “No problem Archie. Go on home and do something more fun. Remember what we talked about.”

Archie ducked his head and smiled, then nodded. 

Fred’s brows connected for a moment at his odd behavior, but he was glad to be rid of the office and get back home. 

Archie and his guitar were very quiet on the way back.

“What’s eating you?” Mary asked him. 

“I don’t like that none of you are going to work,” Archie blurted out. “You can still go to work and do your jobs. I won’t die on the spot.”

Mary sighed. “Well I can’t because I won’t go back to Chicago until you’re fine, but Deanna can work from here.”

“I can go back to work tomorrow,” Fred said. “Gotta pay for the amount of food Jughead eats somehow.”

Archie and Mary laughed. 

* * *

 

They could hear the music inside the house from the front doorstep.

“Deanna,” Mary sighed, rubbing her forehead. 

“Is this Boogie Shoes?” Fred asked. 

“Is this  _ what _ ?” Archie asked, alarmed. 

“If we’re quiet, we might get to see some dancing,” Mary said, and gently opened the door. There was a strong smell of cookies, and they all snuck in, breathing in the aroma eagerly. The music was coming from the kitchen. 

“I wanna put on, ma ma ma ma ma boogie shoes,” Deanna sang. They peeked around the corner. Deanna and Jughead were baking cookies, but Jughead was the only one currently doing any work, because Deanna was giving an impromptu performance, sliding across the floor in her socks and using a whisk as a microphone.

Mary slipped off her shoes and joined in, stealing Jughead’s fork for her microphone. Mary was not a good singer, but it was charming nonetheless.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you got your musical talent from Deanna,” Fred muttered. Archie tried to hold in his laughter but it just made him snort.

“Boogie shoes are socks, apparently,” Jughead said in long-suffering tones. The song ended.

Archie started taking off his shoes.

“No!” Jughead demanded. “Bad Archie.”

“Very superstitious, writing’s on the wall,” Deanna sang along to the music, and handed Archie a spatula.

“Come on Jug,” Archie pulled on his arm. “A dance party.”

“I hate parties.”

“If you’re going to be in this family, you’re going to dance,” Mary said, and took both of Jughead’s hands, dancing with him. Jughead was too surprised to argue.

Archie did a mock bow with too many flourishes and held his arm out to Deanna. 

“May I have this dance?” he asked in an exaggerated British accent.

“You may,” she replied in the same drawl, and they danced, much better than Mary and Jughead, who weren’t good dancers in the first place. Combining their powers just made it worse, their limbs uncoordinated and nearly knocking everything off the counters.

Deanna and Archie managed alright, because Deanna was actually a wonderful dancer.

“What do you think Vegas?” Fred asked the dog that had wormed its way between his ankles. “Are they any good?”

“Booooo, this isn’t a competition,” Mary laughed, giving him two thumbs down. Jughead copied her.

“I thought it was,” Deanna said. “We’re winning anyway.”

“Traitor,” Mary announced. “Jughead, we’ve been insulted for the last time.”

“We’re truly terrible dancers,” Jughead said.

“You are,” Archie said, matter-of-factly, before almost tripping. Vegas tried to eat a chocolate chip off the floor so Fred pulled him back and picked him up.

“Partner switch then, Benedict Archie,” Mary said, and grabbed Deanna’s hands.

“Archie’s not any good either,” Jughead said, and it came out abnormally loud as the dong switched.

“Sugar Pie Honey Bunch!” Mary and Deanna exclaimed together.

“Dance competition, Dad, you judge,” Archie said, and pulled Jughead into a not-half-bad square dance. Fred had no idea where they’d learned that, and didn’t really want to know.

“No, I’m a contestant,” Fred announced, and brought Vegas onto the dance floor, crooning the lyrics to the confused dog.

Archie and Jughead were laughing too hard to actually dance, and when Mary almost tripped over them where they were giggling on the floor, they all stopped dancing and just enjoyed the music.

“Jughead, your cookies,” Deanna said, waving the whisk by his face.

“You do it, I’m dead,” Jughead said. Archie pulled his hat over his face. Jughead wiggled feebly on the floor, blind. “Whyyy,” he dragged out the word.

“You probably should, I’m guessing he did all the work so far,” Mary said, sneaking a finger into the bowl.

“Lies and slander,” Deanna stuck out her tongue.

“Sounds like the truth to me,” Fred said, and snuck a taste of the cookie dough as well.

“Hey!” Deanna slapped their hands back. “This isn’t for you! It has to be baked first.”

“Well, I’d do it, but I have an appointment with a dementor,” Mary said.

“A dementor?” Jughead asked.

“Betty’s mom,” Archie stage-whispered to him.

“Don’t tell anyone I said that,” Mary instructed. “No one.”

“Scout’s honor,” Archie said.

“Bad choice,” Jughead said. “Scouts in Riverdale don’t have much honor.”

“I won’t say a thing,” Archie promised.

“And you?” Mary asked Jughead.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Jughead said.

“Except his 12 Myspace friends,” Archie teased.

“I don’t have a Myspace!” Jughead protested, thoroughly offended. “Never has there been a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. And, if I did have one, I’m sure I would have a lot more than 12.” Archie just laughed at him.

“Speaking of wretched hives of scum and villainy,” Mary said miserably, looking in the direction of the Coopers.

“It’s not Mordor, just go,” Deanna said.

“Maybe I should bring cookies with me,” Mary said.

“It’s just Alice,” Fred said.

“She still scares me a little,” Mary admitted, helping Deanna put the cookie dough on a baking tray. “She was scary then and I’m worried she’s become scarier over time. Like fine wine but negative.”

“Alice isn’t scary,” Fred said, looking to Archie and Jughead for support. They shook their heads in unison.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d once stabbed someone,” Jughead said.

“She stabbed me with a pencil once,” Fred said thoughtfully.

“Same,” Mary said. “Wow, this makes  _ me _ feel  _ much _ better.”

“It’s just Alice, she’s too scared of ruining her reputation to actually do anything,” Fred assured her. 

“I’ll still bring cookies,” Mary said.

“Why don’t you boys find something to do,” Deanna said. “Like clean up after me?”

“I helped bake, I don’t have to help, I know the rules,” Jughead said.

“And I’m very depressed, obviously,” Archie deadpanned. “Sorry, no dishes today. Come on Jughead I’ll show you the garage.”

“Archie Andrews, don’t joke about that!” Mary called after them.

“I’ll do the dishes,” Fred said. “You worry about convincing Alice.”

  
Fred did the dishes in the kitchen with them, and it felt for a moment like he was back in high school with Hiram and Hermione, where he knew the others well enough that they didn’t need words, could just exist in the same space and feel alright. Sometimes Fred forgot how lucky he was, how lucky he'd been

He was going to need moments like this to get through what was coming.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Twilight Drive-In gets destroyed, Alice Cooper manages to be a bitch even off-screen, and Archie and Fred have a fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably going to start updating every Tuesday night because it's one of my least busy days :)

Fred looked up from his materials calculations at the sound of Mary barging into the house. 

“How’d it go at the Coopers’?” Fred asked. She looked very tense, but that might just have been a side effect of Alice Cooper existing in Mary’s general area.

“Alice is sufficiently cowed, and I just so happened to be there for a phone call where the country sheriff called her and told her they had a location on Gibson.” She held out a hand for a high five. “Everything will be alright.”

Fred smiled, some more of that weight lifting.

“Unless she tells the police about Betty breaking into her car and you and Alice letting her go.”

Fred’s smile dropped. “Let’s not borrow trouble. Let’s wait until we know what’s going on. She can’t do that without implicating herself anyway.”

“We need an in at the sheriff’s office,” Mary said, dropping into the chair next to him with a sigh.

“Archie’s friends with his son.”

“Oh?” Mary said. “But will the son be privy to any information?”

Fred put down his papers to think about it. It was possible, but he couldn’t exactly ask Kevin to spy on his dad for him, and Kevin wasn’t really involved in this stuff anyway. They could maybe trust Kevin to pass on some information, but if there was anything significant found out about Fred himself, Sheriff Keller would tell Kevin not to pass it on.

“I don’t think he’ll be able to tell us anything. I don’t think we’re going to get anything we need from them,” Fred said.

“Oh, you’re missing a zero,” Mary commented, glancing at his papers.

“You know, my bookkeeper is still on paternity leave,” Fred said. “Want to rejoin Andrews Construction for a bit?”

Mary tilted her head to the side. “I’m just worried about leaving Archie alone.”

“He has school, and you know I can give you more flexible hours,” Fred said.

“Sounds like a plan,” Mary said, and they shook hands. “Thanks boss.”

Fred snorted.

* * *

Fred paused on his way down the stairs. They were finally demolishing the drive-in, but Jughead had been really upset about that. Would Jughead want to come?

“Hey Jug?” he asked, opening Archie’s bedroom door slightly.

Jughead startled awake and looked around wildly before remembering where he was. “Yes? Good morning.”

“Good morning to you too,” Fred whispered. “I’m destroying the drive in today, I was wondering if you wanted to come? Just so you have the option.”

Jughead stilled. “I think I’d rather remember it how it was, if that’s okay with you?”

“Alright, just thought I’d make sure. Go on back to sleep.”

Jughead nodded and put his head back on his pillow, so Fred quietly closed the door and went downstairs.

Mary was already there, nursing a cup of coffee. There was a couple twenties on the table next to her.

“Jughead and Archie are heading to movies later with some friends, to get Kevin out of the house,” Mary said when Fred looked at the money oddly. “I just don’t know who Kevin is.”

“Movies don’t cost that much here,” Fred said. “It’s not the city.”

“Let me spoil our son,” Mary said tiredly, laying her head on the table. “Time for work soon.”

“Why are you up so early?” Fred asked, getting the rice krispies from the cereal cabinet.

“I overestimated how much time I needed to get ready,” Mary shrugged. “Now I know."

“We’re knocking down the Twilight Drive In today,” Fred said.

“You’re kidding,” Mary said. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Archie was _conceived_ in that drive in,” Mary hissed.

“Thank god we were parked towards the back,” Fred said.

Mary laughed, “Oh jeez that was nerve-racking.”

“Car sex just isn’t that great,” Fred said. “Not in that piece of junk.”

“Your car was the shittiest car,” Mary shook her head. “The ugliest, most run down piece of crap. I would’ve given anything for you to have a better car.”

“When Archie’s old enough we’re getting him a shitty car. Or he can save up money and get it himself, but it’ll be a shitty car.”

“Oh absolutely. The shittiest we can find.”

They snickered together.

* * *

Without the cars, the Drive-In was just a large, almost-empty field with shitty grass and a lot of dried mud, oddly sad and lonely.

“Look at the projection booth,” Mary said.

“Jughead Jones was here,” Fred read. “Why did he spell it like that?”

“Trying to be cooler than he is, probably,” Mary shrugged. “Or cool at all.”

“Don’t tell him he’s not cool. I’m fairly certain that’s the image he’s trying to cultivate.”

“Shit, would I?” Mary scoffed. “Let’s go in.”

“Mary we’re working.” Fred really wanted to go in. He’d been curious about the inside of it since he was seven, but it’d always been locked, and the owner of the Twilight had always been too scary to risk angering. If you were banned from the Twilight, there’d be nothing else to do.

“I’ve never been in it,” Mary said. “Just a minute in there.”

Fred followed her in. Most of his workers weren’t here yet anyway, so he could take a couple minutes.

“There’s a bed in here,” Mary said.

“To nap on between movies?” Fred suggested.

“No, it’s been slept in for real,” Mary said. “This is a lived in space. The water jug, the shirt, hell, pretty much anything that isn’t film reels is out of place. You said Jughead was desperate to save the Twilight, right?”

Fred’s heart sunk to his stomach. “He was living here.”

“Let’s save some of the film and everything,” Mary said in the business-like tone she reserved for when she was very upset, taking pictures of the set-up on her phone. “And these blankets aren’t half bad. We can-” she broke off.

“We can take care of that kid, and we can collect all the items in here and figure out what to do with them later. I’ll work outside, you pack up in here. I’ll have someone bring you a box or something.”

Fred left the suddenly-oppressive shed, marching single-mindedly to the entrance where his workers were gathering. This week was easily in the top three worst weeks of his life, and he had a feeling it’d be on the top spot soon.

“Dan, bring a few garbage bags to the projection booth, the rest of you listen up,” Fred said, and let his mind focus fully on the task of beginning demolishing and leveling the land.

After work was a different story. The bags in the back of the truck were giving him buzzing, angry feelings, and Mary wasn’t much better off.

“Where’s Jughead?” Fred demanded the second he opened the front door.

“They’re still out with their friends,” Deanna said, looking up from her laptop. “What’d he do?”

“He didn’t do anything,” Fred said. “It’s what’s been done to him. He’s been homeless for a while.”

Deanna sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Shit.”

“I’ll sort through his stuff with him,” Fred said. “And then we’ll talk.”

“We’ve been invited to a Halloween party,” Mary interrupted, holding up a little postcard. “Okay, I say invited, but it’s for the whole town.”

“It’s not even October,” Fred said. “Already they’re planning it?”

“Some people start celebrating Halloween in September,” Mary said, with a pointed look at Deanna.

“Just because I like skeletons doesn’t mean I’m celebrating Halloween,” Deanna said. “I’m, quite frankly, offended.”

Fred watched them bicker fondly.

“What?” Deanna asked.

Fred blinked. “What?”

“You were watching us,” Deanna said.

“No, it’s just nice to see you both again,” Fred said. “I’m glad the separation hasn’t been damaging.”

“And when Archie’s a senior, we’ll be getting a divorce,” Mary said, and kissed Fred smack on the cheek. “You’ve got to have something to write about in your college essays.”

“I’m sure he’ll have plenty,” Fred rolled his eyes and kissed her cheek back.

“I love you two,” Deanna said, brown eyes sparkling. “You’re so.. amicable.”

“Amicable Andrews,” Fred said, flashing a grin.

The door swung open, Archie and Jughead coming home with their friends in tow. Archie had an electric keyboard tucked under his arm.

“Hi Mr. Andrews, Mrs. Andrews, Mrs. Laurent,” Betty said.

“Look at how grown up you’ve gotten!” Mary exclaimed, pulling Betty into a tight hug, then holding her by her shoulders to take a look at her. “You’re almost as tall as me now, and so pretty.”

“Thanks Mrs. Andrews,” Betty said, cheeks tinged pink.

“You’re Archie’s mom?” Kevin asked Mary, a bit incredulous.

“It’s great to meet you,” Veronica said, holding out a hand. “I’m Veronica.”

“Hermione and Hiram’s kid,” Fred explained quickly. “That’s Kevin Keller, the Sheriff’s son.”

“It’s great to meet you both,” Mary said, shaking the proffered hand warmly.

“There’s still cookies from yesterday,” Deanna said. “I’m Deanna.”

“Nice to meet you,” Veronica and Kevin said in near-unison.

“Betty can vouch, right? The cookies are good,” Mary said.

“I didn’t get to try one,” Betty admitted.

“Alice,” Mary shook her head, and managed to make the gesture and tone sound fond rather than enraged, which was a real feat of acting.

“I’ll get a plate,” Deanna said.

“We were going to head out to the garage,” Archie said. “Veronica found an old keyboard and we’re going to mess around with it. Is that okay?”

Fred and Mary exchanged looks.

“No, it’s fine,” Fred assured them. “Have fun kids!”

Deanna handed Kevin the plate of cookies and the teens all traipsed out the back door.

“Later,” Fred sighed. “We’ll talk to him later.”

“I can’t believe that bitch threw out my cookies,” Mary said, disgusted.

“It’s because I put my little lesbian hands all over them,” Deanna said, mock-sorrowfully.

* * *

 

By the time their friends left it was late, but Fred was determined not to leave this another day.

“Jughead, I need to talk to you,” he said. Jughead, sitting on the airbed in his pajamas, stood up.

“Do I have to leave?” he asked.

“No, you never have to leave, I just need to speak with you downstairs,” Fred said, and Jughead reluctantly followed him, sending a panicked glance back at Archie.

“Archie, no listening in,” Fred called behind him.

Jughead stopped when he saw the bags in the living room.

“We took a look in the booth before we knocked it down,” Fred said. “Why didn’t you come to us?”

“I was fine on my own,” Jughead said stubbornly.

“Until someone bought the Twilight,” Fred said, then stopped and rubbed his forehead. “You are always welcome here. Always.”

Jughead looked at the bags. “What are you going to do with those?”

“I think you should look through them soon,” Fred said. “But for now, I think you should give me a hug.”

Jughead hugged him without hesitation.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“You’re part of this family Jug, you have been for a while,” Fred assured him. It was late enough that Jughead wasn’t wearing his hat, so Fred ruffled his hair and repeated himself. “You are always welcome here. Well, not the living room right now. Go to bed.”

Jughead laughed and mock-saluted.

“Aye aye sir,” he said, and started up the stairs back to bed.

“Jughead?” Fred asked.

“Yes?”

“I won’t ask specifics, but is your sister okay?” Fred waited with bated breath for an answer as Jughead stilled on the stairs and thought about the right words to say.

“Last I heard, she was fine, and wasn’t in a situation where that could change anytime soon,” Jughead said finally.

“Thank god,” Fred said. “Alright, now go to bed for real.”

“Sure thing.”

* * *

 

Monday passed in a blur. Fred worked automatically, focused on Archie’s seven o’clock appointment. Mary was leaving early to drive him up, so he’d be left back here, antsy and worried about how it would go.

He’d forgotten about making dinner, but only realized it when he stepped into the house and smelled chicken.

“Hey Fred,” Deanna called from the kitchen. “How was your day?”

“It was alright, yours?” Fred asked, following his nose to see Deanna slicing carrots and Jughead peeling potatoes.

“Not half bad,” Deanna said. “I got a lot of work done.”

“Deanna’s teaching me to cook,” Jughead said, waving a potato at him.

“Great,” Fred said. “Now give me that peeler, you have homework.”

Jughead sighed and handed him the peeler. “It’s not a lot.”

“But it’s not done,” Fred said.

“Can I do it in the garage?” Jughead asked.

“As long as you do it, you can do it on the roof,” Fred told him.

Jughead shook his head. “No thanks. The only good roof to sit on is Reggie Mantle’s, remember?"

“I’d forgotten about that,” Fred admitted.

“Forgotten what?” Deanna asked with interest.

“In third grade Archie and Jughead and their friend Reggie got in trouble for climbing up on his roof.”

“His roof was completely flat in that part,” Jughead protested. “And his dad had been up there just a few minutes before us.”

“His dad wasn’t a third grader Jug,” Fred said, amused.

“Can I take Vegas?” Jughead asked.

“Sure,” Fred shrugged.

Jughead took his backpack out to the garage, and with a snap of his fingers, Vegas was wiggling happily behind him

“He better do his homework,” Fred said.

“He’s had it done so far, hasn’t he?” Deanna shrugged. “You have to be careful not to parent him too much. He’s proven he can handle himself.”

“He came here once he didn’t have a place to stay,” Fred said. “I’m just shocked he didn’t come here first.”

“Sometimes, all you have is your pride,” Deanna said.

Fred nodded.

“Hey dad,” Archie said from behind him, and hugged him quickly. “I’m starving, is dinner almost ready?”

“Say hello to everyone when you walk into a room,” Fred scolded. “Manners.”

“Sorry, hi Deanna, how was your day?”

Deanna just laughed. “Hi Archie. It was great, how was your day?”

Archie thought for a moment. “Not bad,” he decided. “Where’s Jughead?”

“Garage doing homework with Vegas,” Fred said.

Archie went to grab an apple.

“Wait for dinner,” Fred told him.

“You’re starving me,” Archie joked, but he put down the apple and took his backpack outside.

Fred told himself he was not going to eavesdrop on their conversation.

He lasted a remarkable ten minutes before he had his ear pressed to the garage door.

“Bro,” Jughead said, putting on a weirdly macho tone of voice. “Come on bro, let me feel your arms.”

“He does not sound like that,” Archie said through his laughter. “Let go of my arm.”

“Archie you got ripped over the summer, tell me your secrets. Your workout secrets I mean. Bro dude man. No homo.”

“Now you’re just being mean.”

“Like Mantle doesn’t deserve it.”

“Remember when we were friends with him? What happened?”

“He made fun of Dilton’s braces and you yelled at him, and then Moose asked Betty out for Reggie to play a joke on him and she turned him down and it hurt his feelings.”

“Oh yeah.”

“What’d you get for problem three?”

“Uhh, four. Don’t quote me on that though.”

“I got X squared.”

“Well one of us is wrong.”

“Both of us, probably.”

Fred was about to go back into the house, satisfied that he wasn’t missing anything too crazy, when the conversation switched.

“Can I ask you something kinda weird?” That was Archie’s voice. Fred frowned.

“Do you ever kinda feel like you’re floating?”

“When I’m on a rollercoaster.”

“No I mean when it’s like, late and you can’t sleep and your brain just kind of leaves.”

_ What was Archie talking about? _ Fred wondered.

“I’ve gotten that before. You start thinking about existential stuff and then it feels like you aren’t there any more.”

“Kinda,” Archie said. “I don’t know, it just kinda happens whenever I think about, well, why I’ve got all these appointments.”

“Sadly, I’m not an expert,” Jughead said. “But I think I know the feelings you’re talking about. So I can’t tell you shit about it, but at least you aren’t the only person.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“No prob.”

Fred frowned to himself, trying to puzzle it out in his mind.

The garage door swung open. Fred straightened up quickly.

“Dad?” Archie said. “How long have you been out here?”

“Not long, I was coming to tell you dinner was ready.” Fred lied.

Archie’s nostrils flared. He didn’t believe him. “Okay, but if you were out here listening, I’d tell you that that’s an invasion of privacy and that if I wanted you to know something about me, I’d tell you myself.”

“Hey, I’m still your father,” Fred said sharply. “You still need to be respectful.”

“Respect?” Archie snapped. “How about you respect me enough to know that if I want to talk to you I will, but I don’t want or need you knowing every detail of my life.”

Archie was being perfectly reasonable, but it was like a slap in the face, and his anger was swelling. He knew it wasn’t going to end well before he even opened his mouth.

“Considering what happened, maybe I should be knowing every detail of your life. Trust and respect go hand in hand.”

Archie recoiled. Vegas started barking at Fred, and he caught a glimpse of Jughead’s mortified face before Archie slammed the door of the garage.

 

He’d fucked up.

 

“Stop listening at the door,” Archie barked.

“I’m going inside,” Fred said. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean that."

Dinner was ready when he stepped inside the house, but he wasn’t hungry anymore.

“I’m going to bring some dinner and those bags out to them,” Mary said, when Fred was done pretending he was going to eat and Mary and Deanna had actually finished eating. “And you’re going to talk to Archie about whatever happened later tonight.”

“It’s already past nine,” Fred said.

“And whose fault is it that they weren’t in here to eat dinner?” Mary asked.

Fred’s jaw clenched. “Touche.”

Mary rolled her eyes and headed out to the back with food and the bags, and Fred went to bed with a pit in his stomach.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some father-son bonding, a halloween party, and the scare of a lifetime. And not the fun kind of halloween scare, the heart-stopping worried-about-my-child type of scare. Fun.

Archie didn’t speak to him until Wednesday night, when they bumped into each other in the laundry room.

“I’m sorry,” Fred said. “I shouldn’t have eavesdropped. I’m just worried about you. It’s not you that I don’t trust, it’s the world around you. And me. I don’t trust myself, because I should’ve known and I didn’t. I failed you.”

Archie’s expression barely changed, save for a slight quiver in his lip, the same one he’d been getting since he was old enough to hold back tears.

“You and Jughead just don’t have the greatest track record when telling adults about important things,” Fred said. “But I think you know now, and I’ll let you come to me in the future.”

“Thanks dad,” Archie said. Fred put down his laundry basket and pulled him into a tight hug. They’d hugged more in the past week than they had in the past few months before.

“I love you kiddo,” Fred said. “Now switch over your laundry.”

“Will do,” Archie smiled, and turned to leave.

“Hey, where’s Jughead?” Fred asked. “I haven’t seen him today.”

“Working on the Blue and Gold with Betty,” Archie said. “Don’t worry, he’ll make sure she doesn’t print anything about this.”

“Can’t believe what a mess everything is,” Fred said. “You know it’s not your fault, right?”

Archie shrugged. “I guess.”

“It isn’t,” Fred said, more firmly.

“I know that, I just,” Archie clenched and unclenched his fists a couple times, looking for words. “I just also don’t know that. I’ll figure it out.”

“I know you will,” Fred put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a smart kid.”

Archie grinned. “Oh, that reminds me, I’m going to a meeting later with a songwriting teacher.”

“Archie that’s great!” Fred said. “Who?”

“This guy Val recommended. She said he’s really good.”

“Good luck, you need a ride?”

“Nah, it’s a quick bike ride,” Archie shrugged and opened the washing machine. 

Fred waited until he was upstairs before he let out the longest sigh of relief he’d ever heard. 

* * *

Thursday, Fred was late coming home from work, because it seemed that no one except his own men could be trusted to actually do their damn jobs, and the rental equipment had been brought to the wrong damn place.

He stepped through the front door and all-but ripped off his work boots, sending specks of dried mortar around the hallway and not particularly caring.

“Everyone’s in a mood today,” Jughead commented dryly from his spot curled up on the couch, casually turning a page in his textbook. Deanna was typing furiously on her laptop, leaning over the coffee table and muttering threats under her breath.

“What?” Fred asked. 

Jughead pointed upwards, then to the kitchen. There were banging noises coming from both places. 

Fred glanced into the kitchen and saw Mary rolling out a pie crust, face contorted in anger.

“What’d that pie do to you?” Fred asked her.

“The pie?” Mary said. “Nothing! Alice Cooper, on the other hand…” she broke off, and swore loudly. “Great now I made it too thin.”

“It’s fine, you don’t like pie anyway,” Fred said. He was staying right by the doorway, in case he needed to make a quick escape. Mary was known to throw dough when she was pissed.

“Have you seen The Help?” Mary asked. “Alice Cooper deserves to eat shit.”

“You’re not making a shit pie Mary,” Fred said soothingly.

Mary dropped the rolling pin onto the dough with a muffled thump. “You’re right, I’m not. She’d just throw it out again. You know what that bitch said to me? That I needed to stay away from her daughter, because she didn’t want Betty exposed to that kind of lifestyle.”

“I’m going to speak to her right now!” Fred’s hands were clenched, he realized, arms shaking in rage. 

“No, she’ll go public,” Mary snapped. “Not that I don’t want that Gibson bitch sent directly to hell, but she’ll do it in her newspaper, and turn everyone against Archie.”

“Fuck,” Fred leaned against the doorframe.

“Archie first,” Mary said.

“Archie first,” Fred echoed. “I’m going to go talk to him. Is he okay? Did the therapist say anything to him?”

“He’d been in a rage all day,” Mary said. “Brendan actually managed to calm him down a little. He wouldn’t talk to me about it though. Maybe he’ll tell you.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

Fred climbed the stairs, and he thought about egging Alice Cooper’s house, and then the thought about why Archie might be so angry. Archie wasn’t the type to fly into a rage unless something really upset him, unlike Mary, who once got so angry over a Star Trek movie she had to lay down.

“What’s going on?” Fred asked. Archie punched his punching bag again.

“Just getting into shape for football,” Archie said with a pathetic attempt at casual, and hit the bag.

“It’s not just that,” Fred said. “C’mon kiddo, tell me.”

“Am I talented?” Archie asked, turning away from the bag to look at him with hurt written in every line of his face. “And don’t give me a dad answer, alright? Because Miss Grundy said I was, but she was lying to me the whole time anyway, and now this guy says I’m not, and he’s a real professional.”

“Of course you’re talented,” Fred said. “Never doubt that Archie. But what guy?”

“The songwriting professor. He said my songs were formulaic and just break up songs. And he’s the one that actually knows about this stuff.”

“He sounds like a real piece of work,” Fred said honestly. “You want the truth, I’ll give it to you. If your songs are formulaic, it’s because you just learned how to write them. When you learn math in school, you do almost the exact same problem over and over again until you know how to do all of them, right?” 

Archie nodded, realization dawning on his face.

“Then it makes sense you’d do the same for music,” Fred said. “Taylor Swift built an empire on formulaic break up songs, so even if your songs were all like that, and I don’t think they are, you’d still be able to make it. Don’t let one asshole ruin something you love because he’s too pretentious to see how great you are. We can find another teacher if you want.”

“He won’t teach me anyway,” Archie said. “He said I’m not dedicated enough.”

“You spend at least two hours practicing every day, and I know you’re songwriting in the middle of class,” Fred said, baffled. “You spend every weekend practically locked in the garage.”

“He told me to come back today, and I said I couldn’t, and he said I clearly didn’t have the commitment to make music the priority in my life.” Archie started punching again.

“Hey, come on, stop that,” Fred said, gently taking hold of Archie’s arm. “Your health is the priority in your life. Music is important too, but you have nothing if you don’t have your health.”

“Thanks dad,” Archie said, and took off his gloves. “You’re right. I’m not Taylor Swift though.”

Fred laughed and ruffled Archie’s sweaty hair. “No, you’re much better than her. Now get cleaned up and open a window in here, it smells terrible.”

* * *

Fred couldn’t have said when it happened, but sometime in the last couple weeks things had started to settle. Deanna drove Archie to therapy every Monday and Thursday, they got a trundle bed for Jughead that slipped under Archie’s bed during the day so he wasn’t stuck on the air mattress, and Archie’s medication actually started working.

The dark cloud over it all was that the police still hadn’t managed to track down Gibson yet, but it was like the eye of a storm, Fred thought in his more morose moments. A temporary calm before everything went to pieces.

Mary seemed to take the opposite approach, that everything was only going to get better from here on out.

Fred was just going to enjoy it while it lasted.

His house started becoming the place to be, which hadn’t happened since he’d been a teenager himself. On any given day, he was likely to see at least one teenager not in his family at the dinner table-and he was counting Jughead as in the family. 

That Friday night it was Veronica.

“How’s your mom?” Mary asked, passing the salad bowl to Jughead, who immediately passed it on to Archie. Little asshole probably thought he wouldn’t notice.

“She’s pretty good,” Veronica shrugged. She was a really bad liar, but she wasn’t Fred’s kid, so he wasn’t going to press.

“Still getting used to Riverdale again, probably,” Mary said sympathetically. “Being back here after so long in Chicago is still a little strange, and I’ve only been gone a few years, not twenty.”

“Yeah,” Veronica nodded and pushed her peas around.

“We’ll have to invite her over sometime,” Mary said.

“Take some salad,” Deanna ordered, passing Jughead the salad bowl. 

Fred was right. He’d thought he’d be able to get away with it. 

“So what’s new kiddo?” Deanna asked Archie. “We’ve been so busy I feel like we haven’t even talked.”

“We’re gonna start a band,” Archie announced. “Me, Jughead, Veronica, and Betty.”

“You play an instrument?” Fred asked Veronica, surprised.

“Piano,” she said. 

“I’m on drums,” Jughead said.

“Well  _ that _ I know,” Fred said. “What’s Betty playing?”

“Backing vocals,” Jughead said, then snorted. “Maybe a tambourine if she’s nice about it.”

“Betty is always nice,” Archie said, adamant.

Veronica and Jughead exchanged raised eyebrows across Archie.

Fred cleared his throat. “Why wouldn’t she be nice about it?”

“Valerie’s involved,” Veronica said. “Peripherally, of course, as she has the Pussycats, but they don’t particularly like each other.”

“Betty’s a little jealous,” Jughead stage-whispered. Archie made strangling motions towards him with his hands. 

“Of what?” Deanna asked, amused. 

“She’s in love with me, obviously,” Jughead said dryly, and Veronica choked up the sip of water she’d just taken. Archie handed her a napkin.

“She has a little crush on Archie,” Veronica said when she was able to breath again. “Jughead you’re the worst.”

Archie rolled his eyes. “You’re both the worst.”

Jughead and Veronica high fived. 

Fred couldn’t help the smile on his face. It was just so good to see these kids happy, even though he knew it wasn’t going to last much longer. 

“We still need someone on Bass,” Archie said. 

“Could Betty learn it?” Veronica asked. 

“No, she’s got these weird scars on her fingertips from Jughead’s old treehouse,” Archie said. “That thing was a menace.”

“It’s not my fault she snapped the rung of the ladder,” Jughead protested. 

“What happened?” Deanna asked. “That sounds awful!”

“They were being idiots and Betty was pulling on the ladder too much,” Mary explained. “It snapped in her hand and went into her fingertips.”

“So no string instruments for Betty, is what I’m gathering from this,” Veronica said. “Wow.”

“Speaking of instruments,” Fred said. “Are Josie and the Pussycats playing at the Halloween fest on Sunday?”

“Yeah,” Archie said. “Val’s gonna sneak us backstage so we can learn how to set up everything before we get any gigs ourselves.”

Fred wasn’t going to tell him that Valerie was just tricking him into helping set up the stage, but if he was happy, it didn’t really matter.

* * *

 

Fred felt like an idiot, but there he was, dressed as Fred from Scooby Doo, holding Vegas’ leash in the town square. He tugged at the ascot and shifted awkwardly. Vegas barked and rubbed against his leg. Fred knelt down to pet him and Vegas gave a tongue-lolling doggy grin.

“If it isn’t Fred,” said a familiar voice above him. Fred looked up to see Hermione Lodge smiling down at him, dressed as a vampire.

“Do you want to suck my blood?” Fred asked, flirting before he could help himself.  _ Calm down man, she’s married,  _ he told himself.

“No, I want to offer you a buy two get one free meal at Pop’s,” she said dryly, handing him a coupon out of a little plastic jack-o-lantern. “Happy Halloween.”

Fred took it and folded it into his pocket. “Thanks, this is going to sound a little sarcastic, but this is going to be pretty useful.”

“Yeah, I heard FP’s kid moved in with you?” Hermione said. 

“Jughead,” Fred nodded. “He’s a good kid. So’s Veronica. She was over for dinner on Friday.”

“Is that where she went?” Hermione blew her hair off her forehead. “I swear she’s too independent for her own good. She’s going to reach too far and then realize money doesn’t grow on trees.”

“She’s got a good head on her shoulders,” Fred assured her. “You know those kids are starting a band?”

“As long as they’re better than the Fredheads I think we’re good.”

“Let’s leave the past in the past,” Fred said. “Please, I’m begging of you.”

Hermione laughed, eyes sparkling.

“Glad to see a father so much like his son,” Alice said, walking up. She was clearly a little tipsy, with a halloween-patterned plastic cup, and was dressed like the Bride of Frankenstein. The wig was tilting to one side. It wasn’t a good look for her.

“Hello Alice,” Fred said, shoving down his rage.  _ Archie first, Archie first, Archie first _ , he chanted in his mind. 

“Ascots are the fucking worst, I regret being Daphne,” Mary said, walking up and smiling faux-innocently at Alice. “I’m so sorry, am I interrupting something?”

Alice took one look at Mary and backed up slightly, ducking her head into her vodka soda and pretending she something else to do across the room. Mary gave her ascot a vicious pull.

Hermione looked at her, surprised. “I’d love it if you could teach me that move,” she said. 

“Hermione!” Mary said, holding out her arms and pulling her into a hug. “It’s wonderful to see you again. It’s been years.”

“It's great to see you as well! You know, I thought Fred said you lived in Chicago,” Hermione said. There was that dangerous tone in her voice Fred recognized from years ago, when she’d picked up on something that wasn’t quite right and needed to know the answer.

“I missed home,” Mary said casually. She’d become a much better liar over the years. “There’s so many people I haven’t seen in such a long time, and Deanna wanted to really see where I grew up.”

“Who’s Deanna?” Hermione asked, glancing around as if she’d be able to tell just by looking. She might’ve, it being Riverdale and all, but Deanna was across the room stacking cans. Her Velma glasses kept slipping down her nose.

“My girlfriend,” Mary said. “Sorry, when we started dating everyone in town lost their minds, so I’m used to people knowing who she is by name.”

“I didn’t think you were gay,” Hermione said.

“I’m not,” Mary said, smiling, but her smile had gone stiff, so Fred intervened. 

“Hello ladies, I’m glad you two have managed to find each other. Archie and Veronica have become great friends,” Fred said. “It only makes sense that we all get to know each other again.”

Mary Vulcan-pinched him, just at the right angle to make sure Hermione didn’t see anything but her putting her hand on his shoulder. She wasn’t a Vulcan so it didn’t kill him or make him pass out or whatever it was supposed to do (Fred was a Star Wars man himself), but it did hurt like a bitch.

Fred kept up his smile. “I’m going to go find Archie, nice seeing you again Hermione.”

“So how much shit do you get now that Hermione Granger is a popular character?” he heard Mary ask her as he walked away, and he smothered a snicker.

He passed Mayor McCoy as a very prim, pink princess, and Sheriff Keller, who’d just put a pumpkin hat on his head, and dozens of children dressed as superheroes, but no Archie.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we’re Josie and the Pussycats, here to bring you some killer music for this killer holiday!” Josie said from the stage. They were dressed as cats. Fred couldn’t say he was surprised. “Don’t forget to donate to the food drive and eat some candy!”

The crowd cheered, and the girls launched into a song.

He finally spotted some bright red and green and made his way towards it, hoping it would be his sons, and not another pair of kids. 

Huh. His sons. When had _that_ happened?

Archie waved when he spotted Fred, and Veronica took the opportunity to pull his Mario hat over his eyes. Fred laughed and pulled a chair over to their table.

“Everything going okay?” he asked.

“Yeah dad,” Archie said, exasperated. “Everything’s fine, you don’t need to check up on me every five minutes.”

“I know,” Fred said, “But I’m not allowed to visit my son?”

“Not in the middle of a party Dad, jeez,” Archie said, ducking slightly. “What if Val sees?”

“Val’s busy performing,” Jughead snorted.

“Shut up Luigi, no one asked you,” Archie shoved him jokingly. Jughead pretended he’d been mortally wounded and fell off his chair.

“I know Daisy and Luigi are supposed to have a thing or something,” Veronica said, adjusting the bright yellow flower in her hair and looking down at him on the floor. “But no. I’m not helping you up.”

“Don’t want you anyway,” Jughead said with a snort, scrambling up off the ground

“Speaking of performing, we really need to find a bass player,” Betty said, cutting across Veronica’s response. “If we’d found one, we’d probably be up there tonight." She paused for a long moment. "Well, except we haven’t practiced enough. And this is a town event so the Mayor picks out everything. Actually, forget what I said, I’m just bitter right now. Sorry!"

She was really on edge, but Alice was across the room, so Fred couldn't really figure out why.

“Happens to the best of us,” Archie said, and pulled her into a side hug. 

“Sure does,” Veronica agreed, and hugged her other side. Betty beamed. 

“Alright, you kids have fun now, and you're all always welcome at Casa Andrews” Fred said, ruffling Archie’s hair. 

"Dad," Archie dragged out the word. "Oh my god, stop."

“Come on Vegas, we can tell where we aren't wanted," Fred joked.

He went to help Deanna stack cans for a couple hours, talking and joking with people and letting little kids pet Vegas. Time flew by in a blur of faces and voices and costumes.

“Fred, have you seen Archie?” Mary asked. Fred put his last can into his last box and looked around. The event had ended, most people had left, and the stage was packed up.

“No, he’s probably just with his friends,” Fred said. “Or with the Pussycats. I know they helped take down the stage.”

“That’s the problem,” Mary said. “I asked Jose, she said Archie didn’t help take everything off, just his friends.”

Archie was fifteen years old, so there should have been no real reason for Fred’s blood to start running cold, but it was cold, hell it was practically ice in his veins.

But should didn't mean was, and there were two real reasons.  One, that one of Archie’s classmates had been tortured and killed over the summer, and two, that Gibson was still out there, walking free.

"We'll find him," Fred said, trying for reassuring. He wasn't sure how close he got, but it was as close as he could muster, and dammit, that had to be good enough.

He was probably fine.

Probably.


End file.
